


Of loves lost and seldom won

by crimsondust



Series: Fragments from the daily lives of Les Amis de l'A B C [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bit of bini, Bossuet trying to make things better, Canon Era, February 1830, Implied references to Grantaire's love of Enjolras, Joly and Musichetta's minor disagreement, Multi, Rants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/pseuds/crimsondust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly and Bossuet after a mild disagreement with Musichetta, meet Grantaire who has had his heart broken by Irma Boissy. He discourses on Ancient Greeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of loves lost and seldom won

**Author's Note:**

> I tried a Grantairian rant, though I'm not sure what the result was. Only that the word count I had set was exceeded.

**Grantaire (and a bit of Joly and Bossuet)**

Bossuet was tying his cravat in the mirror.

Musichetta had her arms wrapped around Joly and was whispering sweet words to him, causing him to smile. He whispered something in return and kissed her. She then went to Bossuet to help him tie his cravat as he had made a sorry business of the affair and he thanked her with a kiss.

‘Dearest Laigle, I do not think the weather and circumstances are favourable to venture out tonight.’

‘My friend, I think that every time I pass by Blondeau’s lecture hall. But here, the circumstances and the Gods are positively smiling. They are calling me, an eagle of words to have supper, have a dance, to partake all the favours that Dionysius would grant.  

‘The magnetic alignment is not balanced. I feel it in my nose.’ Joly scratched the aforementioned organ.

‘Ah well, if your breathing organ is a guiding compass, then it must be true.’

‘I always feel a cold coming on before the rain. And you have lost my precious umbrella.’

‘Not lost, dear Jolllly, misplaced. What is misplaced, can be found, what is lost, is for the Gods to know and keep.’

‘Misplaced or lost, I feel a cold coming on. Musichetta agrees that we should not go outside tonight.’

Musichetta who was nibbling at Joly’s ears and kissing his neck, came to an abrupt halt in her activities. She did not like being dragged into disagreements to make a point, especially when she had said no such thing. She was looking forward to visiting her friend Adele, as she had mentioned to Joly, several days ago, but he had forgotten. She walked towards the mirror and started combing her soft locks, throwing angry glances at both of them from her beautiful eyes that drove Joly mad.

‘See how she sulks at me, Bossuet.’

‘And rightly thus, you have upset her. I shall find myself in circumstances where I will be writing a funeral oration for you, if you plan on keeping this up for much longer. So for the peace of mind of everyone involved, let us go and refresh ourselves with spirits.’

Thus did Laigle de Meaux persuade Joly to leave their lodgings. Once outside, Joly became quite pleasantly happy and convinced that perhaps there was to be no rain. They made their steps towards The Corinthe, for if the food was not satisfactory to the palate, the wine would make up for it. Besides, they were meeting Combeferre, Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire there to see a new play. If Bahorel was to be believed, there was to be an ingeniously engineered riot at the premiere.

They found Grantaire already there, with a drink in his hand.

‘We will need something stronger than a glass of wine. Let us order the whole bottle and perhaps some bread and cheese?’ Bossuet began.

‘Two bottles Bossuet. One never knows where the first one goes so one naturally has to send another one down to follow it.’

They gave their order and settled down to conversations.

Joly was still upset at Musichetta, ‘She sulks at me, Bossuet. She will not stoop to forgiveness easily, that Goddess. I shall have to go down on my knees and beg, before we are on amicable terms again.’

Grantaire snorted.

‘You worship them, the prettiest of women and they think they can sulk and make eyes at you and get away with it. Man was a wretched invention but so is a woman! L'homme and la femme, I care not for one or the other. Fie on them, fie on them all! Women call you impossible, when you try and flirt with them. Irma even calls me inordinately homely. And so what, I say? Did Josephine say to Bonaparte, I shall not love thee, you are plain in looks? Did Cleopatra refuse Caesar because he was not the most handsome of men? No, by heavens! Irma refuses to have any dealings with me anymore. She laughs in my face, my pretty boot-stitcher and calls me a hopeless drunkard, an ingrate. She refuses because she has another lover, I am convinced of it. And so what? Does that merit sulking at a fellow? You would not hear of such things in ancient times. I could readily admire the Greeks. Not the Greece of modern times, mind you. The Greece of today is as much gone to pieces as France is, as much in adoration of tyrants as our dear Lady. And England too is not a worthy example to follow and Poland and Italy. I will have no worshiping of Poland. All countries are like women, they ask too much of you and give too little in return. No, my dear Bossuet, give me the Greek Gods and their muses. Give me Zeus’ love for Ganymede. Give me the tragic love of Hyacinthus with Apollo shedding tender kisses for him and filling the air with music. The Gods knew how to love. To be immortalized as a flower, is this not a worthier fate than to be immortalized in scorns only for a chance at kisses? No, Irma Boissy, can keep her lover, she will discard him presently for a better one. I will have none of the sly games of women. Give me the bottle, give me the ancient Greeks. Although, even they were not immune to jealousies and deaths, so give me none. I shall drink and be merry or be sad and be drunk. What does it matter in the end? The stars from heavens descend and surround us and I am content.’

‘Is it true about Irma?’

Grantaire shrugged and drank. Bossuet and Joly looked at him with concern in their eyes.

‘It is true I have lost her. She will be found at a dance hanging on some officer’s arm, no doubt and be transformed to a charming hostess just as Floreal is converted to a bankress. All women are like that, even your enchanting Musichetta. A metamorphosis, a caterpillar emerging into a butterfly. I much prefer those winged creatures, I am sick of the human race.'

‘Capital R, you do nothing to comfort Joly.’ Bossuet was caressing Joly’s shoulders and reassuring him that Musichetta was not angry at him.

Joly put his hand on Grantaire’s arm.

'I'm sorry, Grantaire.'

He smiled at Joly and drank with Bossuet.

‘Your wings have lifted my spirit, Jolllly. You do well to carry four of them. I shall try to comfort you by saying that though I do not know the full extent of the quarrel, I agree with Bossuet, your Musichetta adores you. And there are countless Irmas in the world, if I so choose, so do not worry on that account.' 

At this moment, Combeferre, Bahorel, Courfeyrac and Jean Prouvaire arrived, ready to leave for theatre.

There was disappointment evident in Grantaire’s eyes.

‘The one you seek is not here, big R.’ Courfeyrac laughed adjusting his hat on his head.

‘The one I seek is here, the one true reality.’ He gestured to the bottle as everybody else left for the theatre. Grantaire thought of blonde curls, blue eyes and sweet lips propelled with a strong, upright nature and smiled to himself as he drank a few more glasses before tracing the steps of his friends to the theatre.


End file.
